


something i never knew

by mearcats



Series: i wished on the moon for you [3]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Bedsharing, F/M, Friendship, Loneliness, Melancholy, Sharing a Bed, Unresolved Sexual Tension, inconvenient realizations that people are hot, just sexual tension in general
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 05:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14948435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mearcats/pseuds/mearcats
Summary: After an emotional whirlwind of day, Lucy doesn't want to be alone or sleep on a cold, lumpy couch. Hopefully, Flynn will open his door and won't be averse to sharing space.





	something i never knew

**Author's Note:**

> Just some bedsharing between two friends, who are totes mature enough for it. Takes place after the Harriet Tubman caper in 2.09, since Lucy was decidedly not on the couch or in the bathroom.
> 
> A follow-up to "a softer sky", though it's not really necessary to have read it. Just know they hugged in that one and Lucy realized Flynn, of all people, is her best friend.

It takes her precisely ten minutes of tossing and turning on the couch to realize she’s not going to be able to sleep.

She’s exhausted; between their visit to 1863 and finding out that Jessica is both pregnant and somehow connected to Rittenhouse, she isn’t sure when she’s been more tired. It’s been a rollercoaster of a day, the lows of heartbreak not entirely eased by the thrill of meeting Harriet Tubman. The loss and pain of rejection (she can hear her mother’s voice as clear as if she were present, “Second again, Lucy? Maybe if you focused more on your publications, you’d have been first.”) are currently outweighing the joys she gets to experience meeting her history crushes and the knowledge that she’s fighting the good fight.

A lump rises in her throat. She knows, rationally at least, that she’s a good historian. She wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t.

But it’s getting hard to remember she’s anything other than a historian. Her sister is gone, and her mother is...well, attempting to have your daughter hanged in 1692 doesn’t exactly point to a close relationship.

The bunker isn’t much better. She adores her Time Team family, she really does. But it’s not quite the same. Wyatt and Jess have each other, and it hurts to know she comes in second with him, always. Third now, probably, with the baby on the way. And that’s as it should be. Rufus and Jiya are in their bubble, too. Denise is as close to a mother figure as she could ask for, under the circumstances—but she’s still their boss. And Connor is Connor, with all that entails. He and Rufus have been upping their game in terms of history research lately, so she’s even starting to question her value there.

She just wants something that’s _hers_. Not in a possessive way, necessarily, but something that validates her and her presence here.

Or maybe some _one_ would be even better.

Lucy gets to her feet, wrapping the blanket around her. There’s Flynn, who in his own words, is alone as she is. Despite his recent bonding with Rufus, she’s certain she’s the one he’s closest to. That at least doesn’t seem to have changed in the last eight hours since she realized he’s her best friend.

She remembers how safe, how wanted,  she felt in his embrace earlier, and—well, that’s a feeling she could use right now.

It’s only been a little over a week since they shared her bottle of vodka, since they stayed up talking and drinking. (She knows it’s been exactly nine days and fourteen hours since she woke up in his bed to him teasing her and blushing about it, but who’s counting?)

This time, she doesn’t have alcohol as an excuse or provide her with liquid courage. She shouldn’t need it—they’re friends, after all, and friends can lean on each other—but she feels her heart speed up anyway as she walks down the hall and taps lightly at his door.

It’s probably only fifteen seconds until he opens the door, but each one feels like an eternity. And god, why is her throat so dry all of the sudden?

Flynn answers the door silently, saying nothing as she stands there wrapped in her blanket. Finally, in an echo of the previous week, he gestures for her to come in.

Lucy hopes he’s not just humoring her.

She cranes her head up to look at him as she walks past. Is it presumptuous of her to sit on the bed? Is she invading his space too much?

Finally, he speaks. “Sit, sit.” 

She plops down onto the bed in the spot he’d motioned for her to take. To her surprise, doesn’t take the chair across from her. Instead, he sits next to her, placing one giant hand at the small of her back. 

“Is everything okay, Lucy?” He sounds concerned, and that soft look is back in his eyes. 

She nods, sinking into the comforting warmth of his hand. “Yeah, it’s just—I couldn’t sleep.” 

Flynn hesitates for a second, then she can feel him gently caress her back. Even through the layers of her blanket and pajamas, she has to hold back a shiver.

Fuck, this is _not_ why she’s here.

“Is there anything—did something happen?” 

Lucy shrugs, not sure she wants to have an in-depth discussion of her feelings for the second time that day. He’s been there for her though, not just today, but ever since he joined them in the bunker (well, he tried to be before too, just in horribly misguided ways). “I don’t want to be alone.” 

His hand stills. “Then stay.”

Her heart does a somersault at that, but she needs to be sure. “I won’t be in your way? I don’t want to impose...”

He’s giving her a look that smolders, and she feels heat spread over her skin. It’s the opposite of comfortable, but she finally starts to realize she might be _wanted_ here.

“Lucy, you’re not imposing. I told you before, I—it’s nice to talk to you,” he says, tripping over his words and looking away.

She smiles and extracts her hand from the blanket to squeeze his forearm. “Thank you. That goes both ways, just so you know.” 

His lips curve upward at that, and he looks positively _delighted_. 

The tension in her shoulders starts to dissipate, and she starts to think that maybe sleep will be possible tonight after all. Lucy scoots back—or tries to, getting caught on her blanket and robe. 

Flynn huffs a laugh, helping her untangle herself from the blanket and remove the robe so that she’s at the head of the bed leaning against the wall. 

As soon as she’s adjusted, he stands and moves to the chair, still smiling. “Do you think you could sleep now?” 

Her side feels cold now, though. “What—why did you go over there?” 

“Because you need to sleep, and me sitting there would hardly be conducive to that,” he says, but something curious and inscrutable lights his eyes. 

She knows he’s not implying anything, but her imagination runs wild for a moment before she sternly reins it in. That is _not_ why she’s here. Lucy half wishes he hadn’t teased her about being a “gentle and responsive” lover, because it gave her _ideas_ , and that’s a problem.  

“Flynn, I wasn’t trying to kick you out of bed,” she protests. Her cheeks burn at the unintentional double entendre, but she doesn’t break eye contact.

He blushes too, but he’s also smirking, and when did he get so damn cute? “Excellent, we’ve progressed from abject horror to you admitting you wouldn’t kick me out of bed,” he teases. 

She knows she’s still tomato-red, but she manages to roll her eyes. “Oh, stop. What I meant is that you, an actual giant, shouldn’t have to sleep in that tiny chair.” 

“Lucy, I’m not going to make you take the chair, and you’re already settled in anyway,” he explains, tilting his head at her.

She bites her lip and feels a thrill of satisfaction somewhere inside her when his eyes follow the motion. Finally, she pats the pillow beside her. “Flynn, you might be in great shape, but I also can’t imagine that sleeping on the chair would do you any favors.” He quirks an eyebrow at the backhanded compliment but still looks unconvinced, so she continues, “and I meant what I said earlier, I don’t want to be alone.” 

He softens at her admission, finally nodding his acquiescence. “All right.” 

She watches as he turns away and pulls off his long-sleeved grey shirt, leaving him in just a tank top and his sleep pants. 

Lucy notices he’s nervous when he licks his lips before turning out the light and clambering onto the bed. Her heart squeezes, realizing this may well be the first time since Lorena and Iris died that he’s sharing a bed with someone. 

They shuffle awkwardly for a few minutes trying to arrange themselves without any unfortunate limb injuries. They finally settle in, Flynn on his back and Lucy half tucked into his side and half draped over his chest. 

It’s...comfortable. Or it would be, if she could convince her body that this is just platonic proximity. And maybe if she couldn’t hear Flynn’s heart hammering against his ribs. 

“Is this okay?” he asks. 

She nods against his chest. “Mhm.” 

It takes some time, but they both calm down eventually. Lucy would think he’d drifted off if it weren’t for his thumb rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades. Even through the fabric of her pajamas, it’s maddening. Her body is yelling at her to do something about the throbbing between her legs, but she ignores it in favor of focusing on the rush of affection she feels for the man holding her. 

He gasps when she runs her hand over the stretchy material of his shirt until she reaches its low neckline and her thumb brushes against the warmth of his skin. 

Flynn doesn’t stop his light caresses of her back, but when she drags her nails through his wiry chest hair, he tenses and lets out a strangled “Lucy…”

It sounds like both a warning and prayer, and she takes mercy on him. Stilling her hand over his heart, she takes a deep breath. “I think I’m ready to move on. From Wyatt.” 

When he finally speaks, he sounds detached and distant. “Oh?” It might even convince her he was wholly uninterested, but his hand drifts up to her neck and he drags the his calloused fingertips against her skin. 

It’s her turn for a sharp inhale, but she soldiers on. “I don’t mean ready to jump into someone else’s bed, except, obviously, in the most literal sense.” She’s relieved to hear his quiet chuckle. 

“I wouldn’t call what you did jumping, exactly. It was more like stumbling. Maybe crawling?” he teases. 

She smacks his chest but smiles. “I get it, I’m not graceful.” 

She can feel the shift in his mood. “Perhaps not, but you are gracious, which seems a far better thing to be.”

“Unless I’m falling out of the Lifeboat,” Lucy says, blushing against him. 

“True,” he concedes, pulling her closer. 

She chews at the inside of her cheek before continuing, “I want to be over it. I’m ready to let go of any—well, I don’t want Jess to be gone.” She doesn’t tell him about the possibility of Jessica having ties of some kind to Rittenhouse; it doesn’t change her relationship with Wyatt and, well, Flynn might not react well to it. “And I can’t sit around waiting. I won’t.” 

He’s quiet for a while, though he’s running his hand through her hair in a way that lulls her into peacefulness. “You—you can do whatever you set your mind to, Lucy.” 

Her heart clenches again, and she cranes her head to look at him from where she’s tucked against him. “Thank you.” 

“Anytime,” he says in a whisper. It’s the third time he’s said that to her, and she’s finally starting to believe it. 

Maybe...maybe she’s not alone. Maybe she _does_ have something that’s hers, and it’s in her arms right now.

Or she’s in his arms, whatever. 

He finally looks down at her, and even though she can’t make out his features entirely in the dark, she can feel his gaze. 

Lucy pushes herself up just enough and gathers her courage. She brushes her lips across his, and it’s light, it’s over in a second, but she feels her world shift on its axis. 

He hasn’t responded at all, lying still and motionless, so she collapses against his chest. She’s worried she’s _horribly_ misread this situation and at least five others, when he tugs on her hair and whispers, “Lucy.” 

It’s reverent, it’s fond, and it’s anguished, and it might well be _everything_.  

He cradles her head and covers her lips with his. His kiss electrifies her, and she struggles to remember to breathe when he deepens it. She feels like she’s on fire for him, like she’s falling, and she needs him like she needs air. 

When they pull apart—as much as they can in such close quarters—they’re breathing heavily. She can feel how affected he is where he’s hard against her hip, but she’s not in much better shape. 

Lucy wants this, she really does, but she’s also aware that it’s _a lot_. It’s happening too quickly, and she doesn’t want to endanger this, whatever it is. She feels safe in the circle of his arms, cherished in his embrace. That’s worth more than a quick release, as fantastic as she’s sure it would be.  

Suddenly, everything that’s happened that day catches up with her, and she’s _tired_. She doesn’t quite manage to hold back her yawn, though she makes a valiant attempt.  

Flynn presses a kiss to her forehead. “Sleep, _draga_.”  

Her eyelids feel heavy, too heavy to keep open. “Night,” she mutters to Flynn, making a mental note to look up the meaning of _draga_ in the morning.  

The last thing she feels as she drifts off his his smile against her skin.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you like, it scream at me! I'm not picky, here or or on tumblr are fine.


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